


Making Life a Little Sweeter

by Brokenpitchpipe



Series: (Close as) Grapes Upon the Vine [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Semi-Public Sex, but both parties are into it, spoilers for end game content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenpitchpipe/pseuds/Brokenpitchpipe
Summary: Even in the light of the underworld Zagreus could see clearly the golden band that circled Dionysus's thigh. With every flutter of torchlight, it glinted and glittered, drawing him in.“Enjoying yourself?” Dionysus murmured.
Relationships: Dionysus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: (Close as) Grapes Upon the Vine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124216
Comments: 13
Kudos: 111





	Making Life a Little Sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic almost entirely because of [Dionysus's thighs,](https://hades.gamepedia.com/File:Dionysus.png) pls dont judge me i am very small and i have no money so you can imagine the stress that i am under
> 
> uhhh slightly dubious consent only because alcohol and god-like persuasion is involved, so if sober, enthusiastic consent is a must for u, click away now

Zagreus couldn’t have dreamed of a worse way for the night to culminate.

He might have had the ability to charm Death Incarnate, but a room full of Olympian gods was considerably more challenging. For starters, it was a task and a half to make sure Athena and Ares didn’t wind up in the same conversation, and Poseidon seemed hell-bent on playing with the fish tank and spilling water all over the floor. At least he didn't have to worry about Zeus and Artemis riling each other up, as Zeus had followed Zagreus’s father, Persephone, and Demeter out to the garden the instant they'd asked for a crumb of privacy. Zagreus’s father wouldn't be too pleased, but at least it made Zagreus’s job marginally easier. 

But there were still seven gods milling about the lounge, and it was down to Zagreus to host them until his parents returned.

If they knew anything about the concept of genetics, godly or not, they’d know that any being sprung from Hades would inherit his abysmal hosting skills. But all seven of them kept glancing his way, as if expecting him to break out in song and dance to keep them entertained.

If only he had someone else here, someone he _knew_. But not even Nyx had been invited. Dusa might have been allowed in purely as a hostess, but she was still off gods-knew-where. Than or Meg’s presence would have eased Zagreus’s nerves, even if their somewhat sullen personalities would have clashed rather spectacularly with those of the Olympian gods. Zagreus would have welcomed even Theseus to the banquet, if only to divide the attention of seven gods waiting for entertainment. 

But no, it was down to Zagreus and Zagreus alone. 

He took a sip of ambrosia and gagged— pungent and meant for gods’ tongues only, it burned his throat. 

“Whoa there, Zag, careful with the drink, yeah?” 

Zagreus nearly dropped his goblet as a strong hand landed on his shoulder armor. 

“Lord Dionysus,” he greeted to the god who now stood beside him, purple-robed and easy mannered as ever. In one hand he held an enormous goblet of wine, and when he waved Zagreus’s apology away, it waited in the air beside him until he grabbed it again.

“Now, now, no need to be so formal.” Dionysus chuckled. “You’re among friends here.” He leaned over and lowered his voice— “Even if a few of them are sticklers.” 

Zagreus laughed, anxiety bubbling out in great bursts of air. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and had to resist the urge to bow again. “It’s wonderful to meet you all in person at last.”

“The feeling is mutual, man.” The hand on Zagreus’s shoulder left, leaving a faint smell of sweet wine and musk behind. Zagreus was struck with the sudden urge to grab Dionysus’s hand and bring it back, but he clenched his fingers before they could so much as move. 

He felt no shame. It was a natural reaction. The gods all had auras, whether to incite anger, focus, confidence, or any other feeling that naturally accompanied them. Dionysus had the ability to put people at ease, lower their inhibitions. It was a natural reaction to draw closer, to feel his impulses grow and his resistance falter. It meant nothing of Zagreus’s character. 

Seeing Zagreus’s hand in a tight fist, Dionysus frowned with genuine concern. “Zag, man, take a seat, you look as tight as the thread of fate.” 

The last thing Zagreus wanted to do was sit down and limit his range of motion, but when an Olympian god told you to do something, you did it. Obediently, he sat on the plush red lounge seat for the first time since having them installed. Dionysus plopped down beside him. Sweet musk filled Zagreus’s nostrils again, easing his worry ever so slightly. 

“What’s wrong?” Dionysus asked, voice a bit quieter. “I thought we were having a lovely time.” 

“Er— no, nothing’s wrong,” Zagreus said carefully. “Just… not used to the company.” 

_It’s a lot of pressure_ came as far as his tongue before he swallowed it down. The last thing he wanted to do was imply that the gods were a burden. His mother had drilled in how important— and difficult— it was to evade insulting a god, whether intentionally or not. 

Mercifully, Dionysus just nodded. “Well, let me say you’re doing a terrific job so far. I mean, look at this place. When I heard we were gathering in the underworld, I thought it’d be much more gloomy— skulls and blood and dead souls everywhere, you know— but this is fantastic!” He gestured around the lounge, knocking his goblet in the air as he did so. Wine burst from the edge, landing on Zagreus’s chest. “Whoops!” 

“It’s no trouble,” Zagreus said quickly. He grabbed a cloth from the table, but Dionysus was faster. Before Zagreus had picked up his cloth, Dionysus pressed the hem of his purple sash to his chest.

Even with a layer of fabric between them, Dionysus’s touch was intoxicating. Zagreus fought to keep his face neutral as wine, musk, and a sweet scent that was nothing more than Dionysus’s presence alone filled him to the brim. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, breathing out instead through his nose to avoid any untoward noises.

“There! No harm done, see?” Dionysus held up the damp end of his sash, grinning wide. “Now, let’s not let this go to waste.”

And he brought the silk to his lips.

It took an enormous effort, but Zagreus forced himself to look at the far wall, following the flames as they rippled up the fireplace. Still, nothing could drown out the sound of Dionysus sucking wine from silk, and when his lips popped particularly loudly, Zagreus’s concentration failed him and he turned to look. 

The gods were all of them beautiful, each in a way that suggested and uplifted their talents. Athena was awe-inspiring and formidable. Artemis was both prepossessing and untouchable, like a precious stone held behind glass. Even Ares held beauty, in the allure of power that flowed through his fingertips. But Dionysus cared not for power or awe, and the beauty that shone through him was born not from arrogance or hunger, but from life and desire. It carried through with every thoughtless wave of his hand and every mistake he alluded to with no sense of shame— as if he were not aware of his god status, and found himself surprised whenever he remembered it existed. And Zagreus found himself unable to look away as Dionysus cleaned away the evidence of one such mistake, his lips like any mortal’s, pressed together around the sacred fabric he bore.

It took what felt like an aeon, but eventually Dionysus pulled off his sash with a _pop_ and dropped it back to his lap. Heavy with wine and spit, it fell between his legs, giving way to ample skin. Even in the light of the underworld Zagreus could see clearly the golden band that circled his thigh. With every flutter of torchlight, it glinted and glittered, drawing him in. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

Zagreus snapped to attention at once, and instantly felt shame blooming over his cheeks. Without realizing it, he’d leaned so far over to stare that his eyes were level with his goblet where it sat on the table. He sat up straight, trying not to let his embarrassment show.

“Er,” he said. “I...” 

Which was the right answer? _Yes_ would seem insolent, but _no_ was a lie.

Thankfully, Dionysus spoke before Zagreus could decide, smiling easily. “You really are your father’s son— look at you, you’re as tense as he is without a scrap of the sullenness.” Dionysus chuckled again.

“I try not to take after him,” Zagreus replied, hoping it didn’t show just how grateful he was for the change of subject. “Do me a favor and kill me if I start resembling him too much?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, man, you’ll have to ask Ares.” 

They settled into a comfortable silence, just watching the room full of gods. Hermes darted to and fro, never stopping long enough to actually join a conversation. At one point Ares and Athena crossed paths, and Zagreus’s hand flew to his back as if to grab Stygius. But Athena just held her hand out. Ares shook it politely and carried on his way past Aphrodite and Artemis— who were deep in conversation and laughed in unison when he passed them by.

“It really is surreal to see them all in person,” Zagreus said after a while. “I never… imagined them like this.”

“Like what?” 

Zagreus frowned. His mother’s cautions echoed in his head, but he brushed them aside. Somehow he knew that Dionysus wouldn’t mind a few verbal missteps. “Normal, I suppose,” he said honestly. “When mother said she was inviting you all here, I thought for sure we wouldn’t have enough room. Even though I’ve seen Father my whole life, for some reason I thought you’d be…” He searched for the right word. “More.” 

“Are you saying we’re not enough for you?” The words would have struck Zagreus with fear had Dionysus not delivered them with a smirk. 

“I meant bigger, physically,” Zagreus explained. “You live on an enormous mountain, it stands to reason one might imagine you as, well, mountainous. But you’re not much taller than I am.” 

Dionysus considered this through sips of wine. Zagreus realized at once that the goblet was filling itself between every drink— he had no idea how he hadn’t noticed, since none of the drink they had here was nearly as vibrantly violet. Dionysus took a slightly longer sip, and a bead of wine lingered on the rim for a moment before sliding down his chin to land on his throat. It clung even as he swallowed, firelight catching the purple and sparkling it to gold. His throat, too, glowed a deep amber in the warm light. His skin was smooth, not dry and cold like the gods and beings that lived here, deep under the surface. If Zagreus reached out to touch it, he knew it would feel soft under his hand, knew it would feel warm like a hearth, knew it would move under his fingers as Dionysus drank, spoke, breathed— 

“Careful.” 

Two hands, warm and firm, wrapped around his wrists. Dionysus sat him upright again, a knowing smile on his face. 

“Sorry,” Zagreus said immediately, fighting how the golden circlet over Dionysus’s thigh drew his eye with a near-insurmountable force. “Sorry, I’m— not used to—” 

_“Relax,”_ Dionysus hummed. “You’ll turn yourself to stone at this rate, man. Here.” 

And he pressed his goblet into Zagreus’s hand. Though it had been floating in the underworld air mere moments ago, it felt as though it had just left Dionysus’s palm. The gold rim was warm to the touch, the wine inside swirled temptingly. 

_Deny their offerings once, and never again,_ his mother’s voice said in his mind’s ear. 

“I couldn’t,” Zagreus said, not taking his eyes off the goblet. “You’re far too generous.” 

Dionysus tutted. “Zag, you’ve offered drink to everyone here, the least you can do is allow me to return the favor just this once.” 

Zagreus could barely understand the words; the wine’s aroma alone was intoxicating enough to divert his focus. And though a small part of him knew that this might not be the best idea— and that Than would most certainly not approve— Zagreus brought the goblet to his lips and drank. 

Wine splashed onto his tongue— sweet, bitter, sour, strong, and above all, _smooth._ It poured down his throat as if of its own accord, warmth slipping down inside of him until he felt it pool in his stomach. His tongue, loud in his ears, propelled more and more drink down as his head began to spin from lack of breath. He had forgotten that the goblet never emptied, the drink never thinned. 

“Whoa, there—” 

He heard Dionysus speak but knew not the words, could feel warm hands on his face but knew not the purpose. Gold slipped between his lips, and his tongue followed to reach it, but— 

“Breathe, Zag, all right? Breathe, come on, now.” 

Zagreus breathed. 

Dingy, stale air filled his lungs, and the world returned. Firelight focused the four corners of the room. The sound of laughter and talk rang in his ears once more. 

“Are you all right, man?” 

Zagreus could feel wine pooling between his lips, slipping through to drip down his chin. And for a moment he was sure Dionysus would lick it off so as not to waste it. 

But without hesitation, Dionysus’s hand was on Zagreus’s face, his thumb on Zagreus’s chin. He brushed Zagreus’s bottom lip in his haste to wipe away the wine, and through the haze of drink and tempting aura, Zagreus could just make out the worry etched on Dionysus’s face.

“Your father will kill me if you suffocate at my hands,” Dionysus muttered, looking between Zagreus’s eyes. “Speak, man, come on.” 

“Yes,” Zagreus said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m all right.” He inhaled, and the breath hit his chest with a blunt smack. He hiccupped again, bringing a hand over his mouth in mortification. 

Dionysus sighed, dropping his hand. “That’s a relief. I thought you’d just have a sip, I didn’t think you’d try to down a river!” 

“Deepest... apologies,” Zagreus said, the words coming to mind with difficulty. “I should have— I mean to say, I _shouldn’t_ have.” 

“No, no, no,” Dionysus laughed. “You’ve got it all wrong, Zag, I’ve plenty of drink to go around. The more the merrier!” 

Zagreus was vaguely sure that phrase was meant to refer to people and the numbers thereof, but it was too difficult to focus his thoughts on the matter for more than a moment. Every time he moved his head, his mind took an extra moment to catch up, and it lolled from side to side as he tested the new sensation.

“Have you never had drink before?” Dionysus asked, sounding fascinated. 

“Er, not like this,” Zagreus admitted. He swayed to a stop with some effort, a hand on the table to keep himself steady. “Ambrosia provides a buzz, but it’s more like a… sharpening of the senses. Not…” 

He hiccupped again and promptly lost his balance, swaying dangerously close to the edge of the seat, and Dionysus grabbed his arm just in time to keep him from falling to the floor. He pulled Zagreus back to the lounge seat, holding back laughter. 

“Here,” he said, holding his arm up to make room. “Maybe it’s best if I hold you in place until you regain your senses.”

It _sounded_ like a good idea. Zagreus had nearly just fallen, and with the wine in his belly and Dionysus’s aura in his breath, the offer was certainly tempting. Plus, denying a god his request was never a good idea. 

So Zagreus nodded, shifting over on the plush lounge seat until there was nothing but an inch left between them. Even from here, he could feel the warmth radiate off of Dionysus’s skin, could smell the sweet wine from his breath. Something damp hit his foot, and he looked down to see that Dionysus’s spit-sodden sash had fallen over his toes.

Dionysus’s arm settled over his shoulders, heavy and gentle. He pulled Zagreus closer, and suddenly the golden circlet on his thigh was flush against Zagreus’s. Something electric shot between them, making Zagreus jolt. Dionysus’s arm tensed over his shoulders, which did absolutely nothing to help. 

“Feeling any better?” Dionysus asked quietly. 

“Yes,” Zagreus lied. He took a deep breath. “Gods, they’re going to see,” he muttered, trying not to look at the crowd of gods milling about the lounge. If they didn’t like Zagreus picking boons, they certainly wouldn’t like him cozying up to one god while leaving the rest unattended.

“They won’t mind,” Dionysus assured him, and while Zagreus didn’t doubt his sincerity, he was skeptical the words carried any truth. “Carry on,” Dionysus prompted then. “You were telling me about how we’re all so puny and weak compared to your expectations?” 

Zagreus laughed, drink bubbling up to make it linger. “Right, I was,” he said. “Though I have to say, Lord Uncle Zeus does come close to the size I was imagining.”

Dionysus laughed very loudly, and to Zagreus’s horror, several gods around the room glanced over at the noise. Most of them looked away a moment later, but Aphrodite and Artemis lingered— Aphrodite’s eyes widened with excitement but Artemis’s narrowed with suspicion. Instantly, Zagreus was certain he wouldn’t see another of her boons for at least the next ten runs.

“Oh, _gods,”_ he groaned.

Dionysus followed his gaze and took a long sip of wine. From where he sat now, Zagreus could hear him swallow it, could see his throat constrict out of the corner of his eye. It was enough to keep his eyes off of Artemis, and nearly enough to make him forget the problem entirely. And then Dionysus spoke.

“Zag, can I tell you something?”

There was clearly only one right answer. “Yes.” 

Dionysus set his goblet down on the air between them. The wine swirled delightedly, sending spit to Zagreus’s tongue, and when Dionysus spoke, his voice was as quiet as Zagreus had ever heard it, his breath hot on Zagreus’s ear.

“Don’t live your life focused on what the others will think of you— what you do, say, or even how you exist.” 

That electric sensation returned, this time sliding down Zagreus’s spine to nestle between his legs. He pressed his knees together. 

“They might like you for it, but only because you say what they want to hear, not because of who you really are,” Dionysus continued. The golden circlet burned on Zagreus’s thigh. Instinct told him to push it away but his hands were clenched too tight to move. 

“It might benefit you more, man, but it’s no way to live.” 

Zagreus turned to look at him—

And the world spun as drink hit his brain. Even with an arm behind him, it was too difficult to stay upright. He swayed, closing his eyes to better focus, but couldn’t manage it, couldn’t tell which way to lean— 

A hand landed on his side, nearly too late. Instead of neatly catching him, Dionysus’s fingers caught on the edge of Zagreus’s robe, slipping beneath it. The second his hand made contact with Zagreus’s skin, Zagreus jolted again, this time unable to stop a sound from escaping his throat, high and pathetic.

“Zag, what’s the matter?” Dionysus’s grip tightened, as though he feared Zagreus might collapse on the spot. His thumb dug into the small of Zagreus’s back, forcing out another whimper.

“I,” Zagreus said, but that was all. His head was spinning too fiercely to think of another word, he couldn’t drag his focus away from the sensation of Dionysus’s skin upon his own. His knee twitched, touching his thighs together for the briefest instant, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from making yet another mortifying noise. 

“Oh,” Dionysus said softly. _“Oh.”_

For a horrible moment he didn’t move, and Zagreus was caught in eternal limbo, convinced he was about to be smited without a second thought— in front of the rest of the Olympians, no less. They’d all see, they’d all demand to know the cause for such a punishment, and Dionysus would tell them in detail, would explain the egregious insolence that led to Zagreus’s timely and much justified death.

This was it, he thought faintly, as drink and embarrassment worked in tandem to spin his head. After everything, after finding his mother and earning the trust of the Olympians, after hearing his father say his name for the first time in aeons— this was how he would die, in the very end. Giving in to temptation even mortals could avoid.

Movement pulled him from his spiral. Silk, warm and purple, landed on his lap. But before Zagreus could open his mouth to ask the purpose, a flat palm met his bare thigh with utmost gentleness. 

He sucked in a breath, perhaps too sharply, and another hiccup rammed his chest.

“Hush,” Dionysus murmured. “Unless you want an audience.” 

Zagreus shook his head— and immediately regretted it. The lounge fell on its hinges, walls spinning this way and that. Dionysus’s thumb pressed to his back once more, a reassurance that he would not fall. Feeling slightly more at ease, Zagreus chanced a look downward. 

To anyone looking, it appeared as though Dionysus’s sash had fallen between them and found itself draped across Zagreus in err. With the lounge table above them, it would be impossible to see that Dionysus’s hand was below the silk, which fell over them like a cloud. It was only because he was close that Zagreus could see the cloth shift as Dionysus moved his hand. 

His fingers pushed between Zagreus’s thighs until they kissed both at once. And with his other palm against the small of Zagreus’s back, the first slid back, back, back, until it found its purchase. 

_“Ah—!”_

Zagreus had never felt skin such as this before— warm, smooth, and caught between the balance of dry and wet. Nothing in the underworld had ever felt like Dionysus’s hand did now on his length, mild and soft. His fingers curled, expertly, until he had Zagreus’s length in hand completely, and he kept them still as Zagreus breathed— or tried to, anyway. It was extremely difficult.

He let his head fall back until it met solid mass— Dionysus’s shoulder. He smelled like wine, like always, but also like that strange musk that smelled neither sweet nor bitter. 

_Sweat,_ Zagreus realized. This must be sweat. Nothing added, just the scent of Dionysus alone, just the simple act of him existing had brought this into the world, derivative of nothing else. 

“Breathe,” Dionysus said softly. 

Zagreus exhaled, eyelids sinking until half the lounge was bathed in darkness. Dionysus’s hand squeezed gently around his length, as if he were asking permission to continue. In answer, Zagreus pushed his head against Dionysus’s shoulder, thinking, _yes._

The thumb on his back tensed, and that was all the warning Zagreus had before the hand on his length began to move. It slid first up, a broad thumb cresting the hood to catch his slick. Unable to move anything else, Zagreus reached out to nothing, fingers outstretched. His hand found the goblet, and without thinking he grabbed it. 

Dionysus didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, a quiet, private laugh met Zagreus’s ear, and then Dionysus tightened his grip and slid downward, dragging slick as he went. It was all Zagreus could do to keep Dionysus’s goblet from spilling all over his chest.

“Tell me about your mother.” 

It was the last thing Zagreus expected. But he knew better than to ignore it. “She’s—” he stuttered, words stalling as Dionysus’s hand pumped steadily beneath the sash. “She’s wonderful,” he admitted. “She gives me hope that there’s— good in me yet.” 

“That’s good.” 

And he began to talk as though they truly were just sitting and discussing the night’s events. The rest of the room began to tune out, the different Olympians’ voices melding together and fading into a gentle background hush. As Dionysus asked about Persephone, Zagreus’s continued job of climbing to the surface, and the true nature of pomegranates, he kept his hand in steady motion, occasionally sliding his thumb back to the tip to fetch more slick. Zagreus, meanwhile, could barely form sentences in response.

“I see,” Dionysus hummed. “Well, I’ve never made wine out of them, but I bet I could. Speaking of which, where did I put— ah, here.”

Zagreus froze as the hand on his length vanished. Dionysus didn’t bat an eye, just grabbed the goblet from Zagreus’s hands, took a sip, and sighed, “Good stuff.” He passed the goblet back into Zagreus’s palm, then slid his hand right back under the sash and started his work anew.

“You know, Zag, I was surprised when I saw you in person, too,” he said, moving his hand a bit faster. 

Zagreus bit his lip to keep from crying out, then took a deep breath. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. And I’m sure the rest of them were. We can never really _see_ you down here, you know?” 

“I...” His leg twitched, knocking against Dionysus’s. 

“So I’m sure we all thought you’d look some way or another, but here you are. In the flesh.” 

Fingertips pressed against Zagreus’s back, and began to slide downward. Surely he wouldn’t— not here, not now, not without warning— 

“But let me just say—” His thumb caught in Zagreus’s cleft, his fingers slid lower until one was pressed firmly against— “Man, I’m not disappointed in the slightest.”

Dionysus’s fingertip slid inside of him as smoothly as if it had been created purely to rest there, and Zagreus brought the goblet to his lips to keep himself from screaming. Wine burst onto his tongue, heavy and alluring, and without thinking he drank it down desperately, his throat pulsing. The hand on his length hesitated, then held him at his base, tightened, and slid up in one swift motion— 

Wine filled his throat and he choked, gagging, as he came, painting Dionysus’s sash with his seed. How long had it been since Zagreus had seeked such carnal pleasures as this? He’d barely given it a thought between jumping out the window and fighting towards the surface over and over again in a stubborn, endless loop. He could hardly remember the last time he felt heat course through his blood, let his toes curl and his eyes fall back until he had nothing left to spend.

For a precious moment nothing sounded in his ears, and he was aware of nothing other than the feel of Dionysus’s skin over his own, the sensation of cloudlike violet cloth on his legs. A gentle hand pulled the goblet from his mouth and he swallowed the last mouthful with force, warm wine pooling in his belly. 

And then a second finger pressed curiously inside of him. 

Weak and spent, Zagreus couldn’t move, not to ask what was happening, not to deny it, not even to accept it. He couldn’t even muster his eyes open. All he could do was breathe as Dionysus began, lazily, to move his fingers. His other hand stayed above ground, not bothering to return beneath the sash. It was as if he were waiting for something.

Zagreus suddenly understood: this was no boon, given freely with no expectation of a reward. This was an exchange, and Dionysus was awaiting Zagreus’s reciprocation.

Heart pounding, eyes still sunken shut, Zagreus counted his breaths until they fell evenly, until his chest no longer quivered like a numbskull out for blood. But even though he could breathe without shaking, the wine had addled his head enough that he could barely tell up from down, and the fingers inside of him certainly didn’t help. Still, he managed to reach out, to blindly feel for Dionysus’s hand, to signal that yes, he was ready to do whatever was expected of him. 

The touch came immediately. Before Zagreus knew it, Dionysus had pushed him down and pulled the lavender silk over his head. It felt rather like being bent in half, with his feet still planted on the floor and his back parallel to the lounge seat, but Zagreus was too exhausted to care. He let his face rest on the surface below, the warm gold circlet meeting his cheek, and opened his eyes. 

His first impression was of a ripe, sweet plum. The firelight shone through Dionysus’s sash, casting everything from his thighs to Zagreus’s nose in a rich, purple haze. And for a minute Zagreus just laid there, his head atop Dionysus’s thigh circlet, while the fingers inside of him slowly circled, waiting patiently. It was… nice, in a way that Zagreus had never experienced before. With the exception of perhaps Than, Zagreus couldn’t muster up a single memory of just _existing_ beside someone in symbiotic pleasure, sensual or not, without an active goal in mind. This wasn’t training the Infernal Arms, nor was it stopping to rest by a boulder between tasks. There wasn’t a name for what this was, because it didn’t need one. It was simply an act, done from desire and nothing more.

Through the silk, Dionysus’s hand brushed his hair. _Go on._

Obediently— and since when had Zagreus ever considered himself _obedient?—_ he parted his lips. It barely took movement at all to press them to the length lying before him, and less effort still to close them and suck.

The fingers inside of him stilled. Dionysus sighed very quietly, but Zagreus could hear the note of pleasure in his breath. Letting his eyes slide shut once more, since keeping them open was proving to be difficult, he pushed his tongue to the tip. A pearl of slick burst onto his tongue, and it tasted near-identical to the wine from Dionysus’s goblet: bitter and sweet, though perhaps thicker. It, too, spun his head and sent heat to his stomach— and between his legs— when he swallowed it. Content, Zagreus flattened his tongue and instead swirled it down to cup the base of his length. The tip of his tongue found a long, fat vein and he followed it, sliding up and then down, until— 

Dionysus’s hand came down on his head, still gentle but firm this time, and his hips rose in time, pushing his length into Zagreus’s mouth with determined yet tender force. He hit the back of Zagreus’s throat with ease, and the sigh he gave to that carried sound with it, just a little. Heat pooling between his legs once more, Zagreus pushed back against Dionysus’s other hand. Almost apologetically, the fingers inside him began to move again, though with considerably less precision. They lost even more as the hand on his head began to accelerate, as Dionysus’s length pressed harder and harder against the back of his throat. Through the silk, Dionysus’s fingers closed around his hair, pulling, almost warning him— 

Seed poured over his tongue, thick, sweet, and intoxicating. Like the chalice, it seemed a never-ending reservoir, rich and relentless no matter how many times Zagreus forced his throat to swallow. It filled his mouth to the brim, dripping from his lips in excess as if he were gorging on the chalice again, pouring sweet, sticky wine into his mouth faster than he could gulp it down. 

Dionysus gasped, breath coming deep and hoarse, his fingers curling either by cruel design or fated happenstance, and Zagreus couldn’t stop a muffled shout as he felt himself spill once more, this time with nothing on his length but hot, wet air. 

Dionysus didn’t let go of his hair, not even when his seed had finally spent and his length fell flat on Zagreus’s tongue. He retracted his fingers, but his other hand rested over Zagreus’s laurels, his thumb stroking hushedly.

Wine, seed, and sweat were all that Zagreus could taste, feel, or smell, and the only sound that reached his ears was the steady drone of noise, voices that sounded far away and not of any remote concern to him. But they grew steadily louder as he lay there, as his lips grew sticky rather than slick, and then at once the world returned to him. 

“Oh, _gods,”_ he breathed. 

Abruptly, the purple cloud-like sash lifted, and clear air filled his lungs— as clear as it could get in the underworld, anyway. Torchlight once again lit his eyes, and the Olympians’ voices were… 

No, they weren’t clear. They still sounded faint, muffled, as though they were close but blocked off by a wall of stone. But it wasn’t stone that surrounded them. It was a layer of golden, purple-tinged fog that rose to Dionysus’s chest and enveloped both the lounge table and seat, hiding everything it covered in a thick, opaque cloud. 

“Like it?” Dionysus pulled his sash back down, and it draped between his legs as though he’d never moved it at all, as though Zagreus hadn’t just painted it twice with his seed. At the movement, a billow of fog hit Zagreus in the face, filling his nostrils with the smell of stale wine. 

“Blood… and… darkness,” he whispered with dawning horror, sitting up at last.

Dionysus grabbed his goblet and sipped it proudly. “I guarantee it, Zag, no one saw a thing.” 

Zagreus goggled at him. “They’ll have seen _this,”_ he said weakly, gesturing to the fog. And indeed, several heads turned at the sound of his voice. A few whispered to one another. Most turned away quickly, but Artemis poked Aphrodite to get her attention, then pointed straight at him. Zagreus only met Aphrodite’s eyes for a split second before mortification overtook him. He slammed his elbows on the lounge table and sank his head into his hands. “Oh gods, oh _gods._ I’ll never see a boon again.”

“Zag,” Dionysus sighed, clearly disappointed. “I thought I told you to relax, man. Don’t go tensing up on me again. This is a party, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.” 

_“Enjoying myself?”_ Zagreus repeated, voice pitching up with every syllable. He had forgotten his mother’s warnings, he had forgotten the basic manners that had been drilled into him since he first formed words, he had forgotten everything but the fact that six Olympians— seven, technically, if he counted Dionysus— knew _exactly_ what had just transpired beneath this lounge table. He opened his mouth, about to demand _what_ exactly Dionysus expected him to enjoy about this situation, but before he could damn himself against who was probably the only Olympian left that regarded him with a crumb of dignity, the lounge doors flew open. 

Quick as Hermes, Dionysus waved the fog away with a flick of the wrist. Zagreus had a split second to glance down and make sure he was presentable before Zeus, Demeter, and his parents re-entered the lounge— Zeus rather boisterously, while Demeter and his parents lagged behind. 

“Oh- _ho!”_ Zeus cried. “I’m sure you’ve been awaiting our return. Worry no longer, we’ve this all sorted out!” 

Behind him, Zagreus’s father gave a look of restrained contempt. Persephone patted his arm consolingly. Demeter, meanwhile, walked straight past Zeus as if he hadn’t spoken. 

“As you can see,” she said evenly, “apologies have been given, compromises have been reached, and it appears as though all of our loose ends have been tied.” She blinked slowly, commanding the same if not more power in that small motion than Zeus did with every electric entrance he gave to Zagreus throughout his trips up the underworld. “I trust you have all behaved yourselves in our absence?” Demeter added, glancing around at the lot of them. Her gaze lingered slightly on Ares.

Zeus, meanwhile, had spotted Zagreus. “And how fares our young man, eh?” he boomed, grinning widely. “I daresay you’ve had quite the time getting acquainted with all of us, Zagreus.” 

If only he were in the flooded fields of Asphodel, Zagreus thought miserably, that he might step into the magma and drown. He felt Dionysus stiffen beside him, clearly astonished that his actions had consequences. 

“Er,” Zagreus said, looking anywhere but in his mother’s eyes. 

“Oh, your son has been _such_ a lovely host,” Aphrodite gushed. Nine Olympians stared at her. Her cheeks began to flush magenta. “Wouldn’t you agree?” she tried, looking around at them rather helplessly. Zagreus’s father caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Athena agreed after an awkward few seconds. She eyed Zagreus shrewdly. “He has.”

Ares opened his mouth, but behind his back, Artemis prodded him warningly with her bow. 

“I was delighted to meet my nephew at last, dear brother,” Poseidon said firmly before Ares could ignore her and speak anyway. His vote of confidence seemed to do it. Zeus and Demeter broke into smiles: his wide and bright, hers reserved.

“It’s been lovely seeing everyone together for once, isn’t that right?” Hermes piped up, jogging into view with a plate of baked fish. The conversation shifted abruptly, as Zeus turned his attention to the Olympians instead, remarking over all of their flaws with booming laughter. 

“Aww,” Dionysus muttered in his ear, voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. “They like you.” 

And indeed they must, if they were willing to lie to three of the most powerful gods in existence just to save him some embarrassment. They were family, after all. Perhaps it was an odd thing to lie, but that was rather the point of this whole feast, wasn’t it?

Zagreus’s father narrowed his eyes— _we’ll talk about this later—_ before turning to his mother-in-law to discuss something else, and the moment passed.

“Well, I should go give proper thanks to your mother and father,” Dionysus said awkwardly, standing from the lounge seat and giving his sash a few pats. “Keep an eye on my goblet, Zag?” 

And he made for the door, nearly tripping over the sash in his haste— or perhaps in his drunkenness.

Zagreus let out an enormous breath, once more sinking his head into his hands. The Olympians may have covered for him, but nothing could change what he'd done. They all knew, and he didn't doubt his grandmother and his other uncle would know too, soon enough. On the night of the most hallowed celebration in aeons, Zagreus had bent under a table to bring a god to completion, while six other gods waited for it to be over. They would never, ever look at him the same way again. 

Shadow shrouded him, and the sweet scent of rose petals began to drown out out the wine. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, face as red as the base of his laurels. 

“You’re welcome,” Aphrodite hummed. “Though I hope you know this means you owe me.” 

“Of course,” Zagreus agreed. “Anything.” 

“I’ll do you another favor and let you rephrase.” 

“Anything within reason,” Zagreus amended. “I don’t suppose a bottle of ambrosia would suffice?”

“It might.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Aphrodite giggled. 

Zagreus groaned, long and low. “I can’t believe I did that.”

 _“I_ can,” she tutted. “You should know better than to drink from his chalice, little godling.” She folded her arms, glaring across the room to where Dionysus was shaking Zagreus’s father’s hand. 

Zagreus blinked. “What, does this happen a lot?” 

“It’s certainly not surprising,” Aphrodite said evasively. “You really needn’t worry _that_ much over it. Though do worry a little,” she added. “Really, on the day you choose to tell us your mother’s still alive?” 

“I didn’t _mean_ to,” Zagreus countered, “I was just a little nervous to meet you all, and he’s one of the more… approachable ones among you, and he offered me drink, and I didn’t think I should decline—” 

“I’ve heard a lot of weak excuses in my time,” Aphrodite interrupted, smiling slyly. “Yours ranks among the top, I think.” 

Zagreus’s cheeks flushed, but he had nothing to retort. The only reason it had happened was because the both of them had wanted it, and it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. He sighed. “You’re right. I suppose I’ve no excuse at all.” 

Aphrodite cocked her head, rosy hair draping over her chest. “Perhaps you’ve been working too hard. When was the last time you took a break from fighting through this place to the surface?” 

Zagreus thought. “I’m not sure,” he admitted after a moment. “Father’s happy about what I’m doing for the first time. I used to be driven by the chance to make him mad, but now it seems I’m driven by the opposite.” 

“Hmm.” Aphrodite tutted. “You’re full of love, little godling. I can sense it.” She tapped his forehead. “For your mother, for your grandmother, and for all of us. Even for your father, deep down.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “But I don’t see very much in there for _you.”_

“I—” Zagreus swallowed. “What?” 

“I’m the goddess of _all_ love, not just that of others,” Aphrodite said haughtily. “Think on it, will you?”

And she swept away from the table, rose petals in her wake. 

Zagreus watched as she rejoined the congregation, all of whom had gathered by the front doors to greet Persephone again. Zagreus’s father stood some distance back, observing silently. He barely took his eyes off of Persephone for more than a moment, and though Zagreus had none of Aphrodite's power, just a few of her petals, he thought he could sense the love that hung between them: it was like a thin string, glinting golden in the dim underworld light, unyielding, unbreakable, sustained over any distance, able to withstand countless eternities. 

Persephone patiently greeted each god in turn, delighting each with her level-headed charm that proved unique among them. Each had something to say that couldn't be interrupted, and Zagreus began to wonder vaguely if his mother had truly birthed him, as she carried a level of patience he knew he hadn't inherited. After a few minutes he pulled away from the conversation and began cleaning the lounge as best he could, collecting goblets and dishes, setting chairs back where they ought to go, checking that Poseidon hadn't dwindled their fish tank collection too badly. 

Before he knew it, he stood beside his parents at the entrance to the House of Hades, as nine Olympians clambered into Charon’s boat— which expanded with each new addition so that it might fit them all. Hermes gave him the go-ahead, and Charon pushed off from the bank. And it was only then that Zagreus remembered. 

“Lord Dionysus!” he shouted, jogging to the shore. “Your chalice!” He pulled it from his pocket and held it up, wine sloshing over the edge, soaking his wrist.

 _“Keep it, yeah?”_ Dionysus called from the boat, grinning from ear to ear. _“As a reminder of debt yet to be paid!”_ Zeus fixed him with a curious look, but the rest of the gods remained silent as Charon’s oar propelled them down the Styx.

“Debt yet to be paid?” Zagreus muttered, glaring at the infernal goblet. “What debt?” They’d exchanged blows, so to speak. He’d spent Zagreus, and Zagreus had spent him in return, they were even, weren’t they— 

“No,” he breathed, realizing.

Dionysus met his eye, winked, and broke into peals of laughter that echoed across the river. Charon’s boat turned down the stream and out of sight, leaving Zagreus alone on the bank, wine dripping down his arm and onto the banks below. 

“Zagreus?” his mother’s voice called. She had run to meet him. “What was that all about?”

Zagreus swallowed thickly. "Absolutely nothing, mother,” he said, and turned with her toward the house, watching the front doors open for the second time in his life. “Only I think we should expect another visitor one of these days.”

And he tipped the goblet to his lips.


End file.
